


rainy days (with you)

by rynotfound



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Cute GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Flustered GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Not Beta Read, Random & Short, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sapnap is a ball of sunshine, Soft Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), but it’s very brief angst, dreamnotfound if you squint, i love sapnap, sapnap appreciation, there is no plot to this, there might be errors idk idc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29211711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rynotfound/pseuds/rynotfound
Summary: “So?” Sapnap inquires, curious. Dream doesn’t know what he’s curious about, exactly—he hadn’t been listening—but he hums in agreement.“What?” George asks, as if he weren’t listening, either.“So, what’d you guys talk about yesterday?” Sapnap huffed out. “You guys always have these private calls without me—and I get it, I do—but I wanna know what you did. Is that so bad? Am I a criminal for wanting to know?”“It’s not,” Dream says, then. “We just talk about— anything, I guess. Whatever comes up.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 79





	rainy days (with you)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in ten minutes and decided; “why not?”  
> no plot, though. just brief angst and some fluff.

“Was it nice?” George asks, once. “Being in— in _love_?”

It’s an innocent question, really, and Dream doesn’t mind. Dream turns his head to the left, staring at the monitor; George is leaned in, eyes narrowed in a droopy manner, almost as if he were sleeptalking; however, Dream knows he isn’t. It’s too real.

“I guess?” Dream responds. “Well, there’s always that lingering possibility of _rejection_ swinging in the back of your mind, and then there’s hope. It’s confusing.”

George nods in affirmation. “That sounds,” He paused, eyes shifting to the side. “Confusing, yeah. I can see that.”

Dream smiles, although George can’t see it. “You should get some sleep,” It’s not really a statement, more of a request, if he’s being honest. “You look sleepy.”

George laughs, his head swinging downwards, lazily. “Yeah, maybe,” He agrees, nodding. “Okay, sure. I’ll get some sleep. What about you?”

“Mmm,” Dream leans back. “Not sure. I’ll probably go feed Patches, first.”

“Yeah?” George sits up. “You go do that.”

Dream breathes out, entranced. George has always been too beautiful; the fans say so, and he does too, sometimes. “Okay. See you, George.” He says, hovering his mouse icon on the red button.

“Mhm,” He responds. “See you.”

He clicks. George is gone. 

He breathes.

The next day is joyful, to say the least. Every day with Sapnap, however, is joyful, with that enthusiasm he holds; he’d say it was a talent, maybe, if it weren’t so effortless. 

“So?” Sapnap inquires, curious. Dream doesn’t know what he’s curious about, exactly—he hadn’t been listening—but he hums in agreement.

“What?” George asks, as if he weren’t listening, either.

“So, what’d you guys talk about yesterday?” Sapnap huffed out. “You guys always have these private calls without me—and I get it, I do—but I wanna know what you did. Is that so bad? Am I a criminal for wanting to know?”

“It’s not,” Dream says, then. “We just talk about— anything, I guess. Whatever comes up.”

Sapnap nods his head, and the only reason Dream could imagine that was the sound produced by his mic when he did—the ruffling, and the sound of agreement he made. “Okay, okay. Nice.”

“Then,” George continued. “Dream starts crying like a little baby.”

“What?” Dream gapes. “When was that?”

“One night,” George says. Dream doesn’t remember a— oh. He does. It wasn’t really… crying, though. Manly tears, he convinces himself, and it’s true; they were, indeed, the epitome of _manly_. “And no, they weren’t manly tears. They were crybaby tears, Dream.”

Dream huffs. “They were manly,” He says, convincing himself and only himself; no one else listens. “Seriously, they were.”

“Crying over toy story three is not manly, Dream.” George says, and Sapnap gasps.

“Okay, wait,” Sapnap interrupts. “You guys watch _movies_? Without me? And toy story three, no less?”

George isn’t a big fan of movies, really, and especially not Disney movies. But Dream is persuasive, and it’s easy; however, with Sapnap there, he’d probably just— he would be less persuasive, and then they’d be watching some crappy comedy movie. Dream would much rather cry about UP than watch Men In Black for the twentieth time, thank you.

(But he’d never tell George that, of course.)

“No, not movie night,” George replies, clicking his tongue. “Nights where Dream cries more than he talks. You’d probably like to see that.”

“I would, actually,” Sapnap responds. “That sounds awesome—a night where weakness falls upon the big and mighty speedrunner! I can see it now!”

“Big and mighty—what? Is that my new nickname?” Dream replies, having come back to _that_. Whatever that nickname was, it wasn’t him; and he doesn’t know whoever Sapnap is, either.

(Pretending is easier, after all. It always has been.)

“How can you cry about toy story three?” George asks. “It’s not even sad.”

“Like you’d know,” Dream scoffs in response. “You’re practically in _love_ with those comedy movies you watch.”

“Hey!” George yells back, eyes wide and cheeks suddenly red; it’s definitely a sight to see, for sure. “Men In Black is the only movie I’d watch on repeat. However, you can watch all of those Disney movies on repeat, and it’s just…”

George pretends to gag. Dream huffs.

“Guys,” Sapnap suddenly interjects. “You’re fighting again. Not cool.”

“Play fighting.” Dream corrects, but George only scoffs at that.

“Real fighting,” George corrects, again. “We’re about to physically fight each other.”

Sapnap laughs, and they let it go. It’s like every other night, and Dream lets himself ease; he wasn’t actually riled up, and he doubts George was either, but his cheeks were a bit red. Maybe that was the fogginess, or the laugh George emitted just before. Maybe it’s neither. He doesn’t know.

(George’s laugh has always been breathtaking, he knows that. But is it worth it? To like it that much?)

Then, he’s alone again, and it’s like the room is about to swallow him. Although it’s warm—the air conditioner was running a few minutes ago, and he knows by how his skin had tingled earlier, like a ghost was running it’s transparent fingers up and down his arm—he feels cold. So, so cold. He wraps his arms around his shoulders, feeling weak, pale; something he can’t place. He knows he’ll never be able to. 

Sometimes, it’s like he doesn’t know who he is. The panic dwells inside of him, but he pretends it’s not there and goes about his day. He can’t let them know. He won’t.

(Someday, he’d like to. He’d open up, and they wouldn’t judge him. However, vulnerability has always been hard. That’s why he’s scared, or maybe it’s the feeling that he’d be judged. There, vulnerable, and then laughing, or _pity_.

God, _pity_. It’s poisonous. He hates it.)

He curls himself into a ball, maybe. It’s a haze. A haze that fogs his mind up like the early mornings before school, like a rainy, foggy day, where he has to carry an umbrella with him, and where he listens to the pitter patter against the road, or on cars. It’s a rainy day, too, now, he can tell. He knows it is, because outside of his room is the silent, mumbling pitter patter of the rhythmic rain. 

But he doesn’t listen any longer. He can’t. He’s tired, and drained, and— and he’s not really sure, but he doesn’t feel too good. 

So, he sighs, and tightens his grip on his knees, pulling his body in closer. He has a lean body, but at times like this, he feels so small, like he could just— _break_. At any moment. Mentally, maybe, or physically; he’s not too keen on figuring out.

The silence of the room lulls him to sleep, and it’s nice. He thinks back on Sapnap’s laugh, and the red-cheeked expression on George; he’s glad.

**Author's Note:**

> i probably won’t extend this (since my motivation is lacking lately) but i do hope you enjoyed this simple little drabble ^^


End file.
